


Delirium Collection

by SpaceDimentio



Category: Original Work, Super Paper Mario (Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-05 22:57:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13398066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceDimentio/pseuds/SpaceDimentio
Summary: He'd always been alone, meant to be perfect but was inhuman. The result of a failed genetic experiment, he will have his revenge.The original idea was for an alternate universe Dimentio, but when I decided to use the concept for a writing class, it kind of turned into something else. This is mostly a collection of various exercises we did in class, with the first two chapters being the original story and the last chapter being the finished product. It's still kind of blended with my Dimentio origin headcanons. (Written between 2013-2015)





	1. Linger

**Author's Note:**

> Just wrote this quickly for an assignment for Science Fiction and Fantasy. The topic was Extrapolation, taking an existing technology and imagining what it might become in the future. I had a thought about what it would be like if Dimentio from Super Paper Mario were some sort of genetic experiment gone wrong.

The small boy turned his mask around in his hands. This mask, a simple comic’s mask, one side black and one side white, had turned into everything he was and could be. White. He could be good, like white. He could use his “talents” for goodness, to help people. Or black. He could be as terrible as black. They didn’t deserve his services. He could do such horrible things to them, things as horrible as what they had done to him.

The mask smiled up at him in its peculiarly creepy way. The boy growled and sat completely down, sinking further into the muck of the basement. He’d been hiding in the basement of the corporation for months, biding his time, thinking, planning. It didn’t matter how thin he had gotten, how hungry and thirsty and tired he was. All that mattered was this revenge. It possibly meant his death, but he didn’t care about dying as long as he did some damage first. After what they’d done…  
  
The boy placed his mask on his face, feeling a modicum of strength come back to him. He stood. He was short, barely reaching four feet. He was dressed in the only clothes he had been able to find; a jester’s motley bearing purple and yellow stripes. How he hated it, but it went well with his mask. Besides, jesters were supposed to be crazy, and he was, wasn’t he?  
  
He was meant to perfect, handpicked straight from the best genes. His “parents” had spent months deciding everything that was supposed to be him. Blue eyes, black hair, with a fair complexion. He was supposed to be their perfect little angel.  
  
But then again, things go rarely as planned. He came out deformed, different, too different for anybody’s tastes. His face, his hideous face, how it was twisted into a mockery of human form. Out of sheer spite, they’d made it even uglier with their burns and their scars. That was his first memory, that pain.   
  
Oh, there were other side effects too. He had an unnatural level of intelligence for his age. He was weak physically, but very strong in mind, so strong that he had developed abilities akin to magical powers. Even without his disfigurement, people could tell he was something not entirely human.   
  
All his life, he’d been alone. Every time he tried to reach out, every time he called for help, he was chased away. Nobody had ever said a single kind thing to him. They’d thrown him out, hardly more than a newborn. They’d expected him to die, but of course he hadn’t. He was too strong for that. All those insults hurled at him, soon he would hurl them back a thousand fold. Soon they would pay. Soon.  
  
The boy leaned back against the grimy wall. He looked at the ceiling, intense, icy blue eyes peering out of the eyeholes of the grinning mask, boring straight into the flimsy material. Any second now. He smiled wryly, his expression matching that of the black and white mask. Soon. Now.   
  
  
  
Screams of panic and terror filled the rooms upstairs, and the boy calmly strode over to the staircase, grinning widely under the mask, blue eyes sparkling intensely.


	2. Inferno

 Flames crackled behind him as he walked through the lab. He didn’t care, confidant that his invisible shields would protect him and thoroughly enjoying the sound of destruction the fire brought. There was nobody here, of course. Everyone had evacuated, or tried to; he could hear distant screams and cries of agony and fear. Oh well, the boy thought. They were small enough casualties compared to the justice he was about to deliver.   
  
He stopped, looking up at the machine that loomed over him. He smiled underneath his mask, his icy blue eyes glaring coldly. He’d arrived at his destination. This is the place where he was born, a few tiny cells in a test tube. He raised a hand, then paused, spotting the papers and reports that littered the tables around the room. He slowly walked around, reading what he could through the smoke, leaving the materials alone knowing the fire would take care of them.   
  
The papers told him all he needed to know. Now he could be sure this was the right place. Names and order numbers, lists of requirements and demands. Everybody wanting their perfect child. He could see that they had taken to secretly destroying any evidence of failed growths, to cover up their atrociously high error rate.  He smirked with disdain, then turned back to the huge machine lurking in the back of the room.   
  
It was sleek, made to look good. There were several different but identical sections. Each came with its own panel of buttons and measuring devices, along with a viewing window. Inside most of the windows, the boy could see babies at various stages of growth. He wished he could save them, but it was better that they not be born at all. They needn’t be unnatural like him.   
  
With an air of finality, he raised his hand. A bit of concentration, and a spark of energy appeared in his palm. It grew bigger and more violent, crackling madly with energy waiting to be released. Purples and yellows appeared, dancing crazily as he took a deep breath. Then, with a single flick of the wrist, he sent the ball of energy directly at the birthing machine. It started to short out as he prepared more energy blasts. As it was hit again and again, the machine caught fire, the metal denting inwards with each impact. One by one, the windows burst open, the liquid inside flowing out in shifting streams. The room shook with the rocking of the machine and the violence of his attacks.  
  
He stopped, nothing left of the machine but hunks of twisted and smoking metal. He inspected it, making sure that not a single of piece of it could return to working order. Satisfied, he turned and headed for the exit to the building. He had already destroyed the vital notes and blueprints. It would take a long time for anyone to rediscover and rebuild this technology. After all, Para-Rise was the first company to experiment with this kind of thing. He had taught them the consequences of toying with such things.   
  
He walked directly through the fire, completely unscathed. He casually opened the front door and stepped outside to a scene of utter chaos. Firemen were pounding the building with gushes of water blasted from fire engines. A crowd of people milled about behind police tape, mumbling delicately to themselves as the injured were loaded into ambulances. Every single one of them stopped and stared at him as he lightly strolled down the stairs.   
  
He continued forward to the street, and paused to stare right back at them. None of them would return his gaze. Slowly, he reached up and took off his mask. There was a collective gasp of horror, and quite a few women fainted. He smiled wickedly and gave a theatric bow, before replacing the mask and continuing down the street. Behind him, the building gave a great crack and started to collapse. Nobody stopped him as he disappeared into the shadows, vanishing from their sight forever.


	3. Dire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A character introduction exercise thingie

He saw the kid from across the street, a flicker of fire catching his eye. He ducked out from under the street light and crossed the deserted road, not even looking for passing cars as he quieted his steps. No time to worry if there was something good to be got.   
  
The broad-shouldered man peered around the corner and into the alleyway, ducking back into cover like some sort of spy after catching a quick glance. He hadn’t been seen, but he had seen a promising victim. Just a boy, couldn’t be older than seven, dirty, thin, sitting on the ground and leaning against the worn brick wall with a small flame cupped in his hands. It was that fire he wanted. Could be drugs, cigarettes, even a lighter would be nice, and it wouldn’t be any trouble at all, like taking candy from a baby he always thought. No question about what someone so young was doing with illicit materials, not in this city.  
  
The man stepped ominously out into the mouth of the alley, his formidable being framed from behind by yellow streetlights and the pale moon. The fire vanished in an instant, but the boy didn’t look up, only continued to stare at his hands. Boots clunking softy on the ground, the man loomed over the child and said sweetly, “Now, what’s a boy like you doing out in a place like this all by hisself?” No response. Something didn’t feel quite right. “You lost or something kid? Maybe I’ll help you out if you’d do me a little favor,” he continued with what he hoped was a friendly smile but was actually a nervous smirk.   
  
There was only a slight twitching of hands, and his own hands curled into fists in response. He examined the boy’s mess of unruly ink black hair, tch-ing in disdain. “You stupid or something? Answer me, fag,” the man sneered, inwardly wondering if he should just leave. A soft, annoyed sigh, like the kid didn’t think he was worth bothering with.   
  
“Alright, now you’re pissing me off. Give me everything you’ve got.” The man pulled a gun from his coat and pointed it right at the boy’s head, finger lingering over the trigger threateningly. This finally earned him an actual response, though not the one he was expecting. He suddenly felt himself freeze in shock, unable to take the step back that he found himself desperately wanting.  
  
The kid lifted his head and stared directly into the man’s eyes, ignoring the gun entirely even though it was aimed directly at his forehead. For a moment, the man thought he was missing half his face, but realized with a jolt that the boy was wearing a theater mask of some sort. One half was silky black, giving the impression of nothing being there in the darkness of the alley and the time of night. The other half was white, almost luminescent, but the worst was the expression. There was nothing wrong with a smile, but this was of the creepy sort that you definitely didn’t want to meet on a serial killer at midnight.   
  
The man jerked slightly, trying to get his legs to move. His breathing turned ragged. “…Are you going to shoot me?” He shuddered. That voice did not belong to a seven year old. It was filled with too many dark secrets, too much knowledge. That smiled bore into him and he wanted to scream. “W-What are you?”  
  
“…Just a boy,” the child said softly, with a hint of despair. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to make me kill you?”  
  
The man’s gun arm was shaking. He was the one with the weapon, with the strength and adult experience, but he felt helpless and didn’t know why exactly. He briefly wondered what was going to happen if he decided to fire.   
  
“…Well?”  
  
There was a skittering of rats, startling him. A flash of white and an echoing bang as the gun went off, but no ensuing splatter of brains. The kid had moved, impossibly, only a hole chipped away from the brick where’d he been. He yelled in surprise when he discovered the boy was standing right next to his arm, the gun deflected away with the back of a hand. There was a tense moment as he trembled under the gaze of that smile.   
  
“…Poor choice. You could have left, you know.” With a deft movement, the boy turned his hand around so that he was gripping the wrist of the older male. The man gasped, dropping the gun from the pressure. The boy squeezed harder, and he screamed as he felt the bones in his wrist crack. The pain only lessened once he dropped to his knees and found himself looking up into the porcelain face instead of down. “P-Please…” he stuttered, narrowly stopping his bladder from going.   
  
The boy simply cocked his head in slight amusement, long black bangs falling over the mask. With his other hand he slowly took off the false visage, dropping it on the ground and causing the man to struggle in his iron grip. The boy’s face wasn’t a face at all, simply a mass of deformed tissue with a barely defined mouth and two blue eyes, icy and merciless. “Please what? Please don’t beat me up until I’m barely breathing? Please don’t shoot me and leave my brains scattered all over the wall? Too bad.”   
  
The man started screaming, writhing wildly in desperation. Switching his hold, the child took his time kneeling down and retrieving the gun, his eyes never leaving the man’s panicky, watery ones. With ironic patience, he settled the muzzle of the gun against the side of the man’s head. The man froze and devolved into a mixture of unintelligible pleas and prayer.  
  
The child deliberately leaned in closer. The man shivered in fear, feeling the breath upon his neck. He flinched and shrieked when the gun went off for the second time. “…Bang,” the boy said after a moment’s pause. There was the sound of bullets clattering to the ground, followed by the gun, and then the only sound the elder could hear was a quiet, insane laughter.   
  
He lurched away and fell to the ground, finding his wrist freed and the boy standing over him laughing, the mask back in place.  The smell of piss and gun smoke drifting out of the alley as the kid casually walked out, still laughing malevolently under his breath. The man was left alone to tremble and gibber to himself.


	4. Dear Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character building thing involving them writing a letter

"Dear family,  
  
I hate you. You wouldn't know me, but I am indeed genetically related to you. Your first genetic experiment, in fact. How much money did you waste on me? A couple thousand? More like one hundred thousand? Even a million? I'm sure you're sad about that.   
  
You can never know what hell this existence is, but that doesn't mean I can't make your own lives torture. Soon, you will know the meaning of the darker things on this Earth. For years have I suffered, alone and outcast. But for years I have honed my craft. I could be so much worse, if I wished. Some days I wonder why I'm not.   
  
You don't know what it's like to be two years old, abandoned in a field because you didn't come out right. You don't know what it's like to have to learn to take care of yourself, to steal for survival. You don't know what it's like to be alone, day after day, to teach yourself everything through any means necessary. You don't know what it's like to have something wrong with you, not in your perfect little lives You don't know what it's like to have to watch the life fade from someone's eyes. That's right. I'm no stranger to murder. Maybe I'll even enjoy it someday.   
  
I don't want pity or kindness. I simply want revenge."  
  
He put the stub of lead down and reread everything he'd written. He nodded, crumpled the paper, and threw it away.


	5. Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character building yay

Rain pattered on the small square window of the basement. He watched the drops race each down the pane as the sound of family night drifted down from upstairs. He wanted to stand in it, to take off his masks and let it wash him clean. But he couldn’t. Someone would see, and that was always the problem. He shifted his position on the concrete floor a little. His fingers tapped out a rhythm on his knee.   
  
More laughter from above. His fists clenched as he suddenly felt the need to do something. He cracked open the window, leaning into the rush of cool spring air. It wasn’t enough. He looked around the dank basement, as if anything besides ghosts could have arrived while he was watching. Then, he hesitantly lifted off the mask of porcelain that covered his disfigured face.   
  
A few raindrops found their way inside, and he stuck out his hand to catch more. The sensation of water trickling its way along the irritated red folds of his skin caused him to shiver. It was pleasant, though. He sighed and closed his eyes, a few drops of salt water joining their brethren from the sky.


	6. Waking to Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a what-if scenario

He stared at his reflection in the darkness and unconsciously muttered a curse. The fright faded away, leaving a small smile of amusement in its place. He even scared himself sometimes.   
  
There was a small rustling to his right, where a pink bed and several stuffed creatures were, all various shades of rose. The small girl that was sleeping there had turned over, her face pale in the light of a princess night light. Her eyes flickered behind her eyelids with nightmares, a small moan escaping. He stilled and watched, barely breathing. If she woke, it might ruin everything. Why did his body refuse to move, to simply slip away and close the door?  
  
The girl gasped, blue eyes fluttering open. He could hear her breath coming in short, panicked bursts, slowing down as the nightmare faded from reality. It was several moments before she spotted him there in the doorway, a curious look written on his mask. She sat up, clutching her blankets, too frightened to scream.   
  
Breaking from his indecision, he stepped up to the foot of her bed and simply stared at her as she cowered. "...How old are you?"  
  
Her eyes widened. "S-Six...Please go away..."  
  
"Why...Do I frighten you?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
He sighed. "I always do. But that's simply me."  
  
The girl seemed encouraged by his lack of further movement, sitting up a little straighter and fiddling with her nightclothes. "I-I'm Emma..."  
  
"I saw."  
  
"What..." She paused to swallow. "W-what do you want?"  
  
"From you? Nothing. I was curious..." He paused. "I didn't know I had a sister."  
  
"S-sister?" The girl clutched at her hair.   
  
He shifted his weight slightly and crossed his arms. "Yes. You," he said, cocking his head a little.  
  
She shrank under his gaze, eyes darting around in a refusal to meet his. "W-What's your name?"  
He didn't answer for a moment. "I don't have one."  
  
Emma looked at him. He wondered just what she saw. He was going to have to do something about this.  
  
He shifted again and gazed out the window. He heard the girl slowly pick up a stuffed bunny and hug it to herself, hiding most of her face except for the vivid blue eyes peering up at him with a mixture of fright and curiosity. She couldn't see it, but his eyes were the same icy color, the only part of his face that resembled something human. He reached up and touched the porcelain smile he wore.   
  
"Why are you wearing that?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"That mask. Why's it look that way?"  
  
He sighed deeply and walked around the bed to move closer to her. She backed away, nearly falling off. He partially climbed up in order for their faces to be inches away. She started trembling again, a few tears escaping.  
  
"...Do you really want to know?" he whispered.  
  
She shook her head frantically.  
  
He smiled.  "Good girl."  Slithering off the bed, he unplugged the night light, plunging them into shadow. "Now. Go to bed."  
  
He didn't move for a moment and listened to her whimper. Then he put the plastic princess on the carpet and closed the door behind him with a soft click, casually resuming his business as he went deeper into the still mansion.


	7. Alternate Endings

**Original (the girl interrupts the confrontation between the masked man and the mother):**  
“Mommy?” she said again, voice trembling, and that did it. He could not in good conscious doom the child to his life. There were other ways.   
  
He released his mother and agilely went to the window. With a crash, the glass burst outward and he jumped out, rolling onto his feet and vanishing into the night. The woman quickly sprang from her bed and clutched the child to herself, shaking. There was a monster out there tonight and all nights now.   
  
  
 **Alternative One:**  
“Mommy?” she said again, voice trembling.  
  
He stared at the tiny child, piercing her ice blue eyes. There was only silence until he shifted subtly, causing her to run away. Turning back to his query, he grinned underneath his mask. She trembled under him, and he relished in her helplessness.   
  
“What shall I do with you, I wonder…” he said lowly.  
  
She answered his own question by trying to break away, driven by terror. He quickly moved and stopped her by slamming her head into the headrest, producing a sickening crack. Blood trickled into her hair as she fell unconscious. He let her go, her body falling limply onto the floor with a dry thump. He simply looked for a moment before climbing off the king-sized bed to check her pulse.  
  
“Hmm…A pity.” He straightened and glanced out the window. He hadn’t gotten what he’d needed.   
  
Nothing he could do about that now. It was his own fault for being careless. He spit on the floor next to her and left, going back the way he came. On his way out, he passed the quivering child and the stench of urine, stopping for a second to just look at her. Maybe he’d be back.   
  
  
 **Alternative Two:**  
“Mommy?” she said again, voice trembling.  
  
He froze, realizing he should have planned better for this. Everything started to fall apart as the crunch of gravel and the flash of headlights came from outside. The girl ran off to get help. He should run. He really should run. But he couldn’t help but need a glimpse of his other torturer.   
  
Footsteps thudded up the stairs as the two of them watched the door. The woman was still pinned beneath him, too frightened to try and escape. He held his breath until the door opened and a man stepped inside, the little girl behind him and holding his hand. “What the hell!”  
  
He stared back, trying not to tremble. “You got lucky this time,” he hissed before suddenly departing from the bed and heading to the window. With an enraged thought, he shattered the glass, causing the man to stagger back in shock. He turned and gave a little wave before jumping out, rolling off the impact and getting back onto his feet. He quickly ducked into some shrubbery, trying to regain his senses before he could head off to his hiding place. He wasn’t done, not at all. There would be another plan.  
  
  
 **Alternative Three:**  
“Mommy?” she said again, voice trembling.  
  
He stared at the girl and her little pink nightdress, his former idea resurfacing. Well, why not try it? He’d never murdered someone in cold blood, but there was a first for everything. “Don’t move,” he told the woman and climbed off the bed.   
  
He stepped toward the girl patiently, keeping one ear out for any movement behind him. She looked like she wanted to run, poor thing, but couldn’t do more than clutch at her rabbit. He was standing over her when he heard the whisper of fabric from the bed. He whirled and caught the girl in a hold, one arm snaking around her neck. She dropped the stuffed animal as she raised her hands up, trying to pry the choking arm away. The woman was caught halfway in motion, starting to spring to rescue.   
  
“Didn’t I tell you not to move?” he said, letting annoyance seep into his voice. “Not that it matters. What better way to make you hurt?”  
  
His mother realized what he implied and started sobbing. “No! Not my baby! Please, no.”   
  
“Oh, I’m trash? And my replacement is not?” he snarled, tightening his hold. The child was crying as well, letting out harsh little gasps. “This is your payment for all my suffering.”   
  
“No!” Crack!  
  
Without further hesitation, he twisted until something gave. He let the body fall to the floor as the woman convulsed. He breathed out and looked at her, insides writhing. He turned and left the way he’d come in without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, a might bit darker than the ending I ultimately went with...


	8. Delirium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The finalized version.

A man, a boy really, stood in the hallway, looking at his doppelganger. The black and white comic’s mask stared at him, curved eyes seemingly gleeful in the dark. His clothes were dirty, ripped, and stained by mud and unknown substances. Greasy black hair spilled messily over the edge of the porcelain. Behind him hung an ornate chandelier, its delicate arms whorled with silver and gold.   
  
His heart was pounding away in his chest. Of all the things to bring to his fear to attention... Finally, he could take it no more and turned away from the mirror gracing the corner of the hallway. He felt suffocated by the thin tunnel as his eyes fixated upon the decoration. His breathing hitched as, the arms of the thing turned into a nest of vipers, writhing with fury and bearing their brass fangs at him. He shuddered, wrenching away to lean against the wall.   
  
Trying to control his breathing, he looked out into the foyer again. There was the crunch of gravel and the sudden sweep of headlights as a car drove by. The chandelier glinted, only an object once more. He shrank from the harmless light. “ _Foolish, stupid…_ ” Even with everything plunged into shadow anew, he found he still couldn’t proceed.   
  
It had been both simple and complicated at once. There were many prying eyes in this neighborhood, but the overconfidence of the rich kept them from looking too closely. He had spent weeks watching people come and go, but none of them mattered except for a woman and her young daughter. It had been relief to find her after so many years.   
  
This night, he had set his long held plan in motion. There had been no modern security system, only a lock on the front door. Another example of the hubris these people did not deserve to feel. He had given the inner mechanism a push, and then he stood in the entryway, feeling soft carpet under his bare feet. “ _What a taste of the good life! What strange mixture of mundane and luxuriant is here._ ”   
  
He’d walked over the cool marble floor of the foyer, running a finger along the smooth white paint of the banister as he climbed the stairs. At the top, he had leaned over the railing for a moment, just to take in the size of the room. And once he’d found a hallway, there’d been another meager security measure; a motion detector.   
  
He glanced over at it now. He’d short-circuited the device with his thoughts, telling that little green light that it should go out with a faint pop. It was nothing more than a useless box attached to the corner of the ceiling after that. He tapped his fingers on his thigh in thought, careful to avoid looking in the wall mirror again. He felt faint but also alive. “ _What will I do after this? I’ve come this far. It won’t help, but I’ve come this far._ ”   
  
He inhaled and let the air out slowly, turning around the corner. There were two doors. The first belonged to a hideously pink bathroom, set up for a young child’s use. The other had the name Emma plastered onto it in big, crooked block letters. The latter was the one he went into, noiselessly cracking the door open and slipping inside. He smiled unsurely.   
  
A little girl slept peacefully in a plushy pink bed, her long inky hair fanned out on a pillow. She had a dresser with a mirror, with pictures stuck all around the edge of it. He ignored the child for now and took a closer look. They were all photos of her and her mother, doing mother-daughter things. A few featured a gray-muzzled dog he didn’t know they had. He felt a pang of jealousy; his fists clenched at his sides, that dreadful mask lurking in front of him.   
  
Turning to the girl, he strode over to her bedside and stared down at her. She was hugging a stuffed rabbit. Her chest rose and fell evenly as he reached out and took up a lock of her hair, running it through his fingers. It was smooth and gave off a faint scent of lavender. He wondered if her eyes were blue like his, if she was meant to be his replacement. “ _I’ve never had so much as a safe place to sleep. What makes you more deserving than me? Why was I thrown out and not you?_ ”  
  
His muscles tense, he leaned in until his face was inches from hers. She stirred in her dream, but did not wake to meet a horror. His fingers twitched as he found himself stuck once more. This was his dream, and he was not going to abandon it, but the details of it hadn’t been thought of. Hurting her was one route to take, but he had a conscience. At least, he thought he did. “ _What I am doing here? She has done nothing to me. Probably doesn’t even know I exist. What will happen to her if I go through with this?_ ”   
  
He distanced himself and watched her sleep, relaxing slightly. For a moment, he daydreamed about taking care of her himself, of not being alone anymore. But that was ridiculous. It would never happen, even if she knew nothing of his actions. His eyes prickled. He was too alien, too grotesque and  _inhuman_  for anyone to ever tolerate him. Breathing unevenly, he quickly left the bedroom and turned the next corner before he could change his mind.   
  
He crossed a short walkway that extended over a plentifully furnished living room. He peered down at the room briefly, feeling the old anger rise back up in him. As he reached the cherry-wood door, he swiftly nudged the lock open with a focused thought and entered, feeling for the knife hidden inside his shirt pocket. He slid it out as the woman he’d hated all his life came into view. She looked just like her daughter, her dark hair contrasting against her pillow, her graceful body hidden as a lumpy form underneath the comforter.   
  
His heart jumped erratically, ice flowing through his veins. Now was the moment of his life. Here was where revenge would be sated. The blade gleamed silver in the light coming in through an open window. The night air chilled him further as he approached. He stepped onto the bed, his lithe form almost a match for the one beneath him. He knelt down on top of her and clamped a hand over her mouth in one fluid motion. Her eyes flew open. He had her pinned. He slowly brought the knife up so she could see it, then brought a finger to his lips to shush her.   
  
“What’s wrong…Don’t you know your own son?” he whispered.  
  
Confusion flitted through her icy blue eyes. He gently rested the tip of the knife against her throat. “I will remove my hand now. Don’t scream. I will not hesitate to hurt you or your daughter,” he said stiffly, trying to keep his voice from cracking.  
  
She nodded. He took his hand away and shifted his weight a little to allow her more freedom. He did not move the knife.   
  
“Who-Who are you…” the woman breathed.   
  
He narrowed his eyes, though she couldn’t see it. “Didn’t you hear what I said?” he murmured softly.   
  
She shook her head. “But…It can’t be…You…” She started to cry silently.   
  
“That’s right. I’m not weak.” He choked on the words. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry. Don’t tell me that you didn’t leave a defenseless two year old to fend for himself, just because he didn’t come out right. Don’t tell me that I’m anything more to you than a waste of your time and money. I’ve spent fourteen years searching for you so that I could show you just how evil you are,  _so don’t FUCKING waste my time._ ” He wasn’t whispering anymore, his whole body trembling. He had stood to tower over her, the knife held in her direction. His breath hitched with unheard sobs.   
  
His mother looked up at him, eyes shining with tears. “I…I didn’t…”  
  
“YOU DIDN’T WHAT,” he said.   
  
She closed her eyes and held her face in her hands. “They never told me…I didn’t know. I’m sorry…”  
  
He stared at her. She met his gaze.  
  
“They just said…They-They…there was an accident…Something happened to you…You died…”  
  
The knife tumbled to the floor with a soft thump. He almost fell as he backed off the bed and bumped into the wall, shaking his head slowly.   
  
“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry, Nathaniel…” she wept.  
  
He slumped down to the floor. “…Is that…my name?”  
  
“Yes,” the woman nodded. She hesitantly climbed down and sat across from him.   
  
He didn’t look at her, only hugged his legs to his chest and hid. “You don’t know why?” he said faintly.   
  
“No…they didn’t say…”  
  
After a long moment, he raised his head and lifted away the porcelain mask. His mother gasped and immediately scooted away in revulsion. He knew what she was seeing. He saw it every time he looked in a puddle of street water or a shard of broken glass. “I didn’t come out right, not at all…” he whispered bitterly.   
  
Shivering, he felt tears make their way down his disfigured face. “…Do you know what it’s like to be different?” He looked into the older woman’s eyes, keeping her from looking away. “Do you know what it’s like to be hungry every day, to be cold and without shelter, to be rejected by every person you meet? I’ve taught myself everything since the time I woke alone in a field. How to walk, speak, fight…I’ve had to do horrible things just to survive...” He laid his forehead onto his knees helplessly, closing his eyes to seek shelter in the dark.  
  
He heard movement, but didn’t react. There was no point anymore. His comic’s mask was gently pried from his hand. Between his strangled breaths, he could hear the familiar sound of fingers running over the porcelain. He hugged himself tighter.   
  
He flinched when she touched his shoulder. “How could you…I mean…” he heard her ask beside him.  
  
“How did I survive so young?” He uncoiled a little and looked at her again.  
  
She nodded, wiping wetness from her smooth face.  
  
“…Do you know what psychokinesis is?”  
  
She blinked. “Is that possible?”  
  
“Must be,” he said dryly. “Just another thing that separates me…” He whimpered. “Who…Who am I?” He hid his face in his jeans and started to weep again.   
  
He felt arms wrap around him. She would have gotten the knife, of course, and now she would end his unnatural existence. But that wasn’t the case. Instead, his head was guided to the crook of her shoulder. She sighed. “You are my son…”


End file.
